


Bellflower

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor is tired of watching his child long for their lord in silence.





	Bellflower

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This probably feels like an AU because I’m making Erestor Lindir’s father (adar), but I’m not tagging it that way because it doesn’t really go against any canon. Sort of the other side of [Campanula](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11835186).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lindir has no office of his own, being so often in either his father’s or his lord’s, so it’s no surprise when he slips through Erestor’s door late in the afternoon. He comes bearing scrolls, tightly wrapped documents likely bearing Elrond’s signature, and Lindir drifts straight to the cabinet across the way to give them their proper places. He doesn’t offer greeting to Erestor, for this has become too routine, and it would be silly for them to speak every time they crossed paths in the line of duty. Today, however, Erestor finds something conspicuous in the silence—mainly that it’s not _silence_ at all.

Lindir is humming softly to himself, and his steps hold an extra bounce. He glides across the floor as though he wants to be dancing. He’s a songbird at heart, a growing minstrel, but Erestor has taught him to show more restraint at work. Lindir usually upholds Erestor’s strict expectations. Today, Lindir’s eyes are far away, and the large, pink-white flower tucked behind one ear is a crowning symbol. Its long petals curl down over the point and prop against his dark hair, the rest drawn into a wind-tousled braid. He’d left in the morning to deliver several documents for Elrond’s purview, and Erestor has a sneaking suspicion that, instead of conducting business at Elrond’s desk, Lindir was swept into one of Elrond’s morning strolls. 

And Lindir clearly enjoyed himself on that walk, as his lips are frozen in a lilting smile. He sorts his scrolls as efficiently as ever, but his mind is surely elsewhere. 

Though Erestor’s never been one to pry, he does prefer to know certain scraps of information—most notably, what his child is up to. Despite all of Erestor’s teaching, Lindir is still somewhat unguarded, and Erestor knows he won’t have to give his curiosity away to gain his answers. He asks simply, leadingly, “How was your walk, ion nín?”

Lindir seems to completely forget that Erestor should have no way of knowing that that’s where he was, and he instead sighs, “Wonderful, Adar. Lord Elrond is always a joy to attend.” Lindir finishes poking the final scroll into place, and then he walks over to Erestor’s desk, where a new stack of flattened parchment bears sorting. “I went over the trade lists and new kitchen regulations with him as you asked.”

“Good,” Erestor praises lightly, which always makes Lindir smile like a cat that’s been stroked. “I take it you enjoyed the exercise, too? It is a lovely day.”

“It is! The air was bright and crisp, and the gardens are lovely. Oh—but I promise, I did not pluck the blossom in my hair. I would never despoil our lord’s gardens like that. He picked it instead, then wove it into my hair. He is _so_ talented, Adar... the way it felt...” Lindir cuts himself suddenly off. Erestor deliberately keeps his gaze on his papers, off Lindir’s face, though he can still see Lindir’s cheeks flushing in his peripherals. Lindir didn’t need to say any of that—Erestor knows he’s raised his son better than to defile anyone’s gardens. He also figured Lord Elrond had to put the flower there, for Lindir certainly wouldn’t have done so himself, and of course he would have loved it.

He seems to love all things about their lord, and it also seems he could fawn over Elrond endlessly if given the chance. It makes Erestor wonder just how many others have noticed what he has—but then, very few of his peers seem to notice Lindir at all, which, in this case, is likely a good thing.

But despite his status and his son’s, Erestor’s voice is still devoid of any judgment when he asks, “When will you tell him?”

Lindir pauses, fingers halfway through the stack, and he looks over in puzzlement. “Tell him?”

“Of your affections for him,” Erestor clarifies. 

Lindir opens his mouth but says nothing, his delicate face now staining a deep crimson. He hurriedly replies, “I would not—that is, I would never presume—”

“I know you better than that, ion nín.”

Lindir frowns unhappily, although Erestor has given him nothing to despair over. Erestor simply continues to hold Lindir’s gaze until Lindir wilts, quietly admitting, “I did not think you would approve.”

Erestor lifts a brow. Lindir looks away, eyes lowered. Erestor hesitates a moment on how best to express such approval—he knows the path he suggests won’t be an easy one, and he knows that Lindir, as intelligent and kind as he is, is no fighter. Lindir isn’t one to push for what he wants nor to take risks. Rising from his chair, Erestor steps around his desk to reach Lindir’s side. He cups Lindir’s cheek and thumbs it softly, remembering the days when he could hold Lindir to his chest with only two hands. Lindir has grown much since then, and the way Erestor sees him has matured just as much. Erestor turns Lindir’s face back to him and murmurs, “You are a beautiful soul, Lindir, but you are also very gentle. In truth, I would worry over most lovers you might take. But our lord is, at least, one that I know would treat you well—as well as you deserve, though I know you do not know it.”

Self-worth is one of Lindir’s few failings, and he tells Erestor with wavering eyes, “But I am so far beneath his station—I could never belong with him. Forgive me, Adar, but you at least are his chief councilor. I am only a humble servant.”

“You belong precisely where you wish,” Erestor counters. “I have seen you searching for the right place for many years, and I have never seen you speak of anyone the way you do of him. You have found the right place for you, Lindir, and you will not deny it because of the station I have borne you into it. I have listened to you fawning over him for far too long. You are a grown man, and you will face this as such.”

Lindir actually winces, pulling out of Erestor’s grip to shake his head. “I cannot...”

“You will,” Erestor insists, because if there’s any lesson left he has to teach, it’s _this_ : that Lindir is worth far more than he thinks, and he must conduct himself as such. Some matters, especially those of the heart, are worth that confidence and risk. Because Lindir still looks unsure, Erestor decides to chide, “Or, if you must, you may wait for his chief councilor to advise him so. Although I am sure you will find that far more embarrassing than if you simply take care of it yourself.”

Eyes going horribly wide, Lindir squeaks, “Adar, you would not!”

Erestor gives Lindir a hard look, and Lindir appropriately pales: he should know by now that Erestor doesn’t make idle threats. 

For a long moment, Lindir only flounders. But then he hits surrender, obvious in the way he slumps. Erestor does feel a short stab of guilt for taking away the morning’s happiness, but he knows it will return tenfold when Lindir finally pursues what he wants. 

In the meantime, Lindir quietly asks, “And when he should reject me...?”

“ _If_ he rejects you, then at least you will know where you stand, and you know as well as I do that he will hardly banish you for it. You will return to your duties, and you will be all the stronger for it, and your heart will move on one way or another.”

Lindir looks as though he would much prefer his idle fantasies. But Erestor wouldn’t be doing his job if he allowed Lindir to always cower in that. He glances pointedly at the door, and before Lindir can ask, Erestor finishes: “Now.”

Lindir lets out a pained sigh. But before he goes, he does turn into Erestor’s arms and give Erestor a clinging hug, one of support, and Erestor knows that Lindir, beneath all the fear, is grateful for that. Erestor is quite sure that he’ll be even more pleased when he returns. Erestor has little doubt that Elrond will consider himself lucky to have landed such a catch. 

As Lindir leaves, nervously fingering the flower in his hair, Erestor murmurs a warm, “Good luck.”


End file.
